A Darker Dream
by Severus's little girl
Summary: From a home of abuse and neglect, Harry disappears only to be found battered and broken.  His hope is dimmed, his life almost gone, until she finds him.  Is she his angel?  No, not an angel but something more.  She is a vampire from his darkest dreams.  W
1. Hopeless Nights

_A Darker Dream_

**  
Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. You know the drill people.

**Authors notes:** Its back! I told you A Darker Dream would eventually return, I just didn't think it would be so soon. This story is once more a work in project, since I'm giving it a major rewrite. Harry's age has changed, he'll turn 17 shortly, and HBP and DH will be taken into some consideration. Overall, however, it will still be the same A Darker Dream so many of you have come to love.

On the topic of warnings, I will say that I have warned and rated the story for later chapters, since I hate going through and changing things later.

**Warnings:** Sensitive Issue/Topic/Theme (Abuse), Strong Violence, Swearing

_Chapter One: _  
_Hopeless Nights_

June 31. School had been out for quite some time, releasing the students of a special, prestigious school into the world, to their homes and loved ones. For Harry Potter, a young man on the scrawny side of stature, there was no love in his home. How could his home hold love for him when it was nothing more of a hellish prison? His _family_ held no love for him, never in almost seventeen years of life. It was in this loveless prison of hell that the devil resided in, the devil named Vernon Dursley. For as long as Harry could remember, he had endured the neglect and abuse afflicted on him by his Uncle. Harry had never known, for the longest time, what he had ever done to anger his brother, to deserve such treatment that is, until his eleventh birthday.

The Dursleys of Number 4 Privet Drive were as normal as anyone could possibly be. Vernon Dursley, a large hefty man with hardly any neck and a bushy moustache, was the director of Grunnings, a drill company, and believed in 'appearance is everything'. His wife, Petunia Evans-Dursley, Harry's maternal Aunt, was an average, doting house-wife. Gossip was Petunia's favourite past time and used the advantage of her long neck to catch glimpses of the activities of the neighbours. Their son, Dudley, was their precious angel, doted upon his every whim. Built much like his father, with the blonde hair and watery blue eyes of his mother, Dudley could only be described as a bully and a brute. In the world of the Dursley family, Harry was anything but normal. For you see, Harry Potter, the orphaned son of Petunia's sister, was a wizard. Yes, a wizard, a being from children's books and tales, capable of performing magic. And to the Dursleys, his own family, Harry was nothing more than a freak. An abomination of nature.

Growing up in the Dursley home, Harry had no idea that he was a wizard for his Uncle had tried to stamp out the magic in him. He had been treated as an unwanted servant in the home, forced to sleep in a small cupboard and given impossibly long lists of chores to finish before he would be given food; more than often, he went without. Once Harry became aware of his magical heritage, the treatment from the Dursleys lessened, more than likely out of fear of what could possibly happen. It was still there, but Vernon hardly raised a hand against Harry when he was home. That is, until now.

While Harry had been away at Hogwarts, a school for witchcraft and wizardry, Grunnings had hit a rough patch. Profits were low and people were losing their jobs. Vernon was grasping for threads and blamed Harry for the company's problems. An act of revenge he had called it. Now, Harry hardly felt like himself anymore. Bruises were hidden by his clothes, welts and handprints as well. His muscles, acquired from years of Quidditch, screamed in pain and agony. He was exhausted physically and mentally, waiting for the next four weeks to vanish so that Harry could leave this hell behind.

The sun was shining down with a dazzling brightness as Harry shuffled his way outdoors, holding his ribs gingerly. He had only a few hours to weed the flowerbeds and paint the shed before Uncle Vernon came home. Harry would be lucky to finish the weeding in that time; he could barely move. He had stopped counting how many times he could use his wand before his seventeenth birthday. If he could use magic, he could get the work done and disappear into his room to avoid Vernon's wrath to bide his time until he could no longer be safe inside his home. Harry couldn't help but find it a little ironic that, because of his mother's sacrifice for him, staying with Petunia Dursley is what kept him safe from Voldemort finding him when not at Hogwarts when he would almost welcome seeing the old snake just to get away from Vernon.

Shaking his head, Harry knelt slowly at the flowerbed to pull away the weeds as the hot sun beat down on him. Without water or shade, Harry slowly worked the time away, wishing a sudden storm would fall upon him; maybe then he wouldn't feel as though trapped in a desert. The sun blistered against his skin, though his body was quivering with shivers. As if the beatings weren't bad enough, Harry had gotten sick no doubt with some strand of flu. Everything was just piled on top of him lately, Dumbledore's death, Vernon, Voldemort chasing after him, N.E.W.T.'s, improper nutrition, he could continue listing them until Vernon came home.

It had taken longer than he had originally hoped, but Harry had finally managed to finish weeding the flowerbeds. Wiping the sweat away from his brow, Harry proceeded over to the shed after he retrieved the paint can and brush from the back step. As he worked in the sweltering heat, he could feel the eyes of the neighbours on his back, no doubt wondering why he was working in long sleeves with no protection from the blazing sun.

"Harry!" Aunt Petunia said sharply, appearing at the back door. "Inside, before the neighbours get too nosy."

Nodding his head, Harry gave the half-painted wall a forlorn glance before he cleaned up. Once finished, Harry returned to the coolness of the house, his skin crawling at the temperature change.

"Drink this slowly," Aunt Petunia whispered, handing him a glass of water. She straightened and glanced around for Dudley. "Do those dishes," she instructed back to her normal self. "And don't you dare chip them."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry said, his voice scratchy from the dryness. Though his Aunt held no love for him, she wasn't completely heartless like her husband. The glass he held in his hand was proof. Harry's opinion of the woman had changed when she had started to intervene with Vernon if his treatment went too far with Harry. She never stopped them from happening though, and when she did become involved between the two, Harry always saw the fear in her eyes. They may not have had loving feelings for each other, but Harry prayed that his Aunt had never been struck by him.

As his Aunt left the room, Harry quickly drank the cool water, knowing the action was foolish; even Petunia had warned him to drink it slow. The twisting pain in his stomach served as proof of that foolishness. Ignoring the feeling in his stomach, Harry began to work on the pile of dirty dishes before him. He carefully cleaned the heavier items, skillets and pots, before he dug into the regular dishes. After scrubbing each dish clean, Harry gently placed the fragile items into the drying rack.

"Potter!"

Harry nearly dropped the platter in his hand at the sound of Vernon's booming voice; he hadn't heard the car pull into the drive. Tightening his grip on the dish, Harry turned from the sink to face his Uncle.

"Potter," Vernon Dursley spat as he entered the tidy kitchen. "Did I not instruct you to paint the shed before I returned?"

Harry could see the vein throbbing in the larger man's forehead. "Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry responded, swallowing forcibly.

"Then why is it not finished?"

Harry brushed his hand against his pocket, the comfort of his wand there. If he knew Voldemort wouldn't break down his door the moment he used magic, Harry would've used it long ago. "The neighbours, Uncle Vernon."

"The neighbours? The neighbours!" Vernon Dursley broke into a tirade, his face purple from the effort. Harry immediately tuned the man out, wondering how the neighbours never managed to hear.

"Listen to me, boy!" Vernon snarled minutes later upon realizing that Harry wasn't listening.

Harry snapped to attention a split second before a beefy hand connected with his jaw. Caught off guard, Harry stumbled to the floor, the platter shattering beside him. Vernon seemed to snap at the shattered porcelain.

Harry came to the conclusion that Vernon was worse than any Cruciatus Curse imaginable. For what seemed like eons, the blows and kicks kept coming; not even Petunia could stop him this time. His glasses were broken, a tiny piece of glass imbedded in his cheek, one eye swollen and his lip bleeding; that was the only pain he could feel anymore. Everything else had long gone numb.

"We've fed you, clothed you, put a roof over your head," Vernon snarled as the abuse continued. "No more, Potter, no more..."

Vernon left Harry lying on the once spotless kitchen floor as Harry slipped in and out of the darkness. He could hear Petunia breathing heavily in fear for them all.

"Vernon! NO!" He heard his aunt scream as the heavy steps of her husband entered the kitchen once more.

Eyes heavy and weak, Harry squinted up towards the shape of his uncle, something grasped tightly in the man's hand. Petunia screamed shrilly as a crack, much like the sound of a whip, pierced the stillness of the room. A sharp pain pierced Harry's shoulder as his body tightened, his breathing even more laboured. With a loud pop, Harry vanished from the house of Number 4 Privet Drive, leaving only liquid red behind.

The moon hung high above the streets of London, illuminating the lone figure as she walked down the dangerous streets of Diagon Alley. In this time of evil, it was unsafe to be alone in the dark, more so for a woman. This pale specimen held no fear, however, as she proceeded in her tasks. Her polished boots clicked against the stone, the hem of her long leather coat swirling the mist about her feet. A slender hand, tucked long black locks behind her ear as her blue eyes watched the alleys around her for any sign of unwanted company.

Without a care, the woman stepped into the shadows of Knockturn Alley, glaring at several wizards that started to approach. As they watched, the retreated back into their hidden realms, sensing a darkness within her that was beyond even their skill. She smirked at them, her deep crimson lips revealing pearl like teeth.

Continuing her errand, the woman stepped into a dingy apothecary to retrieve the necessary ingredients for her latest brew. Once her items were safely tucked away, she stepped back out into the alley, melting effortlessly into the gloom. As she followed the maze like paths, her sharp senses snapped to alert, halting her movements. A low groan had reached her ears as the tantalizing, copper scent reached her nose. Like any trained hunter, she followed the scent to a filthy dead end; she never quite expected to see the source.

A young man lay in the shadows, beaten and broken, blood seeping from his shoulder. Without a care that it could have possibly been a trap, the woman knelt beside him, checking for a pulse. His skin was deeply sunburnt, but still a pale pallor, his temperature blazing against her skin. His heart beat out a rapid staccato; he could possibly pass in the night.

Her mind was made up in an instant. Not giving a damn about who he was or where he was from, the woman picked him up with ease, his height the only cumbersome feature. He needed help to survive. Cautious of the groan of pain, the woman adjusted the unconscious wizard in her arms, before she spun on her heel, vanishing from the wizarding world on that bleak June night.

Here is the first rewritten chapter of A Darker Dream. I must say, compared to the original chapter, I've improved dramatically. The first paragraph, five sentences, became nearly five paragraphs this time around. I really hope you enjoyed this chapter and that you once more have A Darker Dream back in your grasp. Don't forget to review, please!

Thursday, November 11, 2007 


	2. A Rescue

_A Darker Dream_

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or his magical world.

Summary: Tears of the angels above weep for the young man below. Harry Potter lays in her arms while the crimson river runs. Time is ticking for him and his rescuer; will she succeed or will the 'Boy-Who-Lived' be no more?

Notes: This chapter is long overdue and for that I am terribly sorry. I have been horrible at updating anything lately, something that is uncalled for. I can't make any promises, but I hope to see more and more of the old readers forgive me and come back, as well as new readers. Please enjoy the revised second chapter of A Darker Dream. ~Selene

Warnings: Mild Violence, Scenes of a Sensitive Theme or Nature

_Chapter Two_

_A Rescue_

Thunder echoed across the deserted meadow as a lone woman ran towards the looming iron gates far before her, her coat and hair being swept by the wind. A summer storm had finally made its way to this sleepy French village, bringing the people a brief respite from the sweltering heat and her château on the hill was no exception. This woman, petite in stature, was cursing those thunderous clouds, while racing up the hill against them. With a glance, she looked down at the boy in her arms, hastening her pace further. The smell of his blood was sharp and metallic, overpowering the scent of the rain. His labored breathing was shallow, yet still managed to resonate louder than the thunder above in her sensitive ears. Half way up the hill, the stone masonry of the fence coming into clearer view, the rain began to fall on them.

"The angels cry for you, young one," the woman whispered to his moaning form. With a quick tightening of her grip upon the fragile body, mindful of his injuries, she leapt, the lithe muscles of her legs working like a well cared for spring. Her body moved in a graceful arc above the gate that shut the world from her home. Beneath her boots crunched the fine pebbled gravel as she once more began to run, seemingly to have barely landed from her jump at all.

Closer to her home she drew; to any that could possibly see through the torrential pour she'd have been nothing more than a blur, a mere illusion of the rain. The boy groaned again in her arms as she bounded up the château steps and slipped through the guardian doors to the warmth and dryness within.

"Ty!" She called out her clear voice ringing in the candle lit hall with command. "Ty, get in here!"

A whip-like sound came from the middle of the grand, marble staircase she was climbing, revealing a tan colored house elf in smartly pressed clothes, his ears flopping as he bowed. "Yes, Mistress? What has happened?"

The woman walked past her faithful servant, knowing he would follow. "He needs help," she said simply as they climbed higher into her home. "Bring the Muggle surgical kits to the guest room near my chambers; have Rosie bring towels, hot water, extra potions from my stores, an apron to cover my clothes," she listed off. She shrugged off her dripping coat as she walked, letting it land in one of the many puddles she had made throughout the corridors. "And alert the others, I'll be calling upon them as well."

The house elf known as Ty nodded after each item and bowed at last, blinking away to complete his tasks as the woman walked through the corridor, lightning illuminating the stained glass on the opposite end. She turned on her heel and entered the guest room, ignoring the sitting room in favor for the bedroom beyond. A fresh fire was growing in the iron grate, the copper oil lamps flickering with fresh life as she placed her fragile cargo upon the bed covers.

"Mistress, we have your items," said the familiar voice of Ty as trays hovered beside her, following her movements. From the corner of her eye, she saw Ty approach, standing nearby to hand her whatever item she called out.

"Thank you, Ty," she murmured binding up her hair as she gingerly laid an ear upon his chest. The weak heartbeat she heard within worried her; it was time to work and save him. Already his blood had seeped onto the quilt beneath him.

Quickly she pushed up the wine colored sleeves of her blouse and took out her wand, promptly dragging the very tip of the willow wood down his threadbare shirt so that a cut would be created. Tucking the wand behind her ear, she pulled open the cut fabric; her hands froze at what she saw. Ty too gasped at the sight there. The flesh of his torso, no doubt originally pale, was a sickening palate of purples, greens, and yellows of bruises, marred by reds and pinks of open wounds and scars. Her blue eyes, no stranger to such sights as this, scanned his body, wondering what other secrets were hidden by the rags he wore.

"Mistress?" Ty whispered, his mouth hidden behind bony hands. "Will he live?"

She looked from her house elf to the boy, the young man, there before her. Though years of training, countless wars and dozens of personal tragedies had made her no stranger to violence, abuse and death, her heart had never stopped clenching in sadness over the sights.

"Pray he does," she whispered resting her hand upon his brow to comfort the unconscious one. Death would be hovering close this ill night, but this was one she vowed he would not take.

* * *

Darkness. Bleakness. Hopelessness and despair. Pain and suffering. Harry didn't know how to feel or how to make it stop as his body screamed, begging and pleading for the torture to end. To just die. But he was alone in the darkness, no one would help.

He lay there alone, curled up from the pain trying to hide his tears from those leering at him, striking him. Cursing him.

"No good brat," Vernon snapped, so close that Harry could feel the spit covering his face. Harry tried to curl up tighter as the blows started.

"Look at you, Potter," said the hissing voice of Voldemort. "Defeated by a simple Muggle. Worthless..."

The nightmares continued for what felt as eternity; he lost track of the hours within the darkness. The taunting, the beatings, the murders...Oh, how those cut into him further than any blade had done. Cedric Diggory. Sirius Black. Albus Dumbldeore. They were gone now, each dead and he was the one responsible. He was a murderer.

The darkness surrounded him, the pain excruciating to him but becoming dull from his becoming accustomed to it.

"Harry," a voice called out, hushed and distant like the echo of a dream. He opened his eyes just a crack, weakly lifting his arm to peak out from the protective cocoon of his arms. There was nothing there in his darkness but then it was there. The blinding light breaking through the darkness.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut against it, the brightness stunning him.

"Harry," the voice called again, closer but still ethereal to his ears. "It will be alright, my little one," she whispered running a hand through his unruly hair. Slowly, Harry opened his eyes feeling at peace finally as he gazed upon the face of his mother, Lily Potter. Behind her he could make out the forms of his father, James Potter, and his godfather, Sirius Black. Had he finally died?

"You're so strong and brave," Lily softly told him, her voice comforting and soothing to his very soul. Her eyes, the twin to his own, studied his face lovingly. "We're so proud of you my boy, my baby boy, its time to wake up though," she continued, her hand gently cupping his cheek. "We love you, Harry, stay strong for us."

Harry smiled weakly, raising his hand towards her face, red hair falling loosely over her shoulder towards him as his eyes grew heavy. He struggled to keep his eyes open, to not lose sight of his loved ones, until he could no longer force his eyes open to see.

"We love you, Harry."

His eyes shot open, only to snap shut just as quick from the sunlight that filled the room. He knew he was laying on something soft and warm, far different from the kitchen floor on Privet Drive, as he slowly cracked his eyes open to view the world in a blur. With a soft groan of tenderness, he moved his stiff arms in attempt to find his glasses.

In his struggle, he could hear footsteps, loud and clicking at first then more muffled sounding. "Here," a woman said softly as her blurry figure came into view above him; Harry could only make out black hair and pale skin as he stiffened in anticipation. "Try these on," she said slipping a pair of unfamiliar frames onto his face. The distortion of his view was made even worse and Harry couldn't help but recoil, trying to shove the wire frames from his eyes. "No," she chided, pushing his hands away, "tell me when you can see."

Harry tensed as a wand appeared inches from his face, his heart pounding in his chest; his hands tightened on the soft bedspread trying to find his wand. Within seconds though, his vision started to sharpen and blur causing him to flinch.

"There," he croaked after a moment, his voice cracking from dryness as his eyesight cleared.

The dark brown wand lowered and was set aside as the woman turned to a small bedside table; Harry's hands relaxed slightly when the wand was out of his sight. He watched her pour water from a sweating glass pitcher, her cream colored sundress swaying a small breeze from the open balcony door across the room behind her. "Here, drink this slowly," she said to him, handing the cool glass over to him. She began propping up his pillows when he showed no sign of needing assistance.

Harry drank the cool liquid slowly, letting it soothe his parched and cracked throat as he looked discretely around the strange room. Warm wood seemed to glow from the sunlight pouring in through the windows and open balcony door. Unlit gas lamps, ready for the night hours, hung upon the walls, as well as simple paintings to add color to the room. What was probably a tidy guest room now showed signs of illness and waiting. A metal cart tucked into a corner, filled with towels, rolls of bandages and more potions than Harry wanted to think about. The small table beside the bed he rested on had several more vials, one he recognized as Skele-Gro, and a dinner tray that held the water pitcher and an empty soup bowl.

The woman...Harry took the chance to look at her without attention as she tidied up that same table. She was petite in stature, shapely and slender with black hair that settled around her waves in curls. Her skin was pale, reminding Harry of an ivory figurine that once sat on his Aunt's mantle. As she sat in the leather chair, obviously brought in from a different spot, Harry caught a glimpse of dark blue eyes before looking down at the empty glass.

"I'm afraid the glasses are probably not the style you're use to wearing," she said after a moment, her voice kind as she attempted to break the silence. "They were the least of my worries when I brought you here though."

Harry rubbed his thumb against the smoothness of the glass he still held. "Where exactly is here?" He asked. "Where did you find me?"

"First of all, you're currently in France and this is my home," she told him, smoothing her skirt across her lap. "The village just down the hill is Village des Cloches. As to where I found you," she paused momentarily, "I found you in Knockturn Alley, in London."

Harry stiffened at the mention of Knockturn Alley, the center for dark activities made even worse by the times they found themselves in. His grasp upon the glass in his hand tightened, as he wished to know where his wand was in case he needed to defend himself.

The woman, as though reading his thoughts, reached out and took the glass from his hand causing Harry to clench his jaw his frustration. "I was in London that day visiting some old friends of mine, and was in the districts purchasing things that I prefer to have English made," she explained, setting the glass once more on the tray. "However, how you made it to Knockturn Alley in the condition you were in, let alone without attracting the attention of something far worse than I is the better question." The woman studied him for a moment, her eyes searching his. "You had only the...clothes you were wearing and a lovely owl standing watch over you when I first found you," she told him as she rummaged through a small drawer in the bedside table. "This was found tied to your leg though, while trying to care for you." She placed Harry's wand next to his hand upon the bed with a smile.

Harry picked it up, feeling the comforting warmth spread through his body from his fingertips. He felt more at ease now that his wand was back in his hand where it belonged.

"What happened?" He asked her, leaning back against the pillows as he watched her.

The woman looked at him, her eyes connecting with his as though searching for something. "You were severely injured," she finally said after a moment, shifting in the chair to a more comfortable position. "The Gods must favor you, for I don't know how you survived for so long without them. Malnourished, fractures, the severity of your sunburn and fever were dangerous, bruises..." she listed off with a bitter tone, her expression dark. With pursed lips, she flicked something off the arm of her chair. "And not to mention the gunshot wound you had...that Muggle needs to be caged." Harry blanched at the mention of a Muggle, fearing he had said something while ill. "It wasn't to hard to figure out," she told him; Harry could still feel her eyes watching him. "A wizard would use a wand to inflict damage on his prey, not a firearm."

Harry leaned back upon the pillows, relieved he hadn't revealed something he shouldn't have. He had never revealed how bad things truly were at the Dursleys, not even to the Weasley family. "How long have I been here?" He asked her, as she adjusted the quilt that covered him.

She tilted her head, her fingers twitching slightly as she smoothed the edges down. "Four days," she answered. "Today is July 4."

Harry was quiet while he lay there. Four days. Had anyone noticed him missing? Did anyone know he was gone? No one from the Order would arrive for him until his birthday at the end of the month. Would they know then where he was at?

The woman sat upon the edge of the bed as Harry sighed wearily, drowsy after so short of a time. "I have been rude though, do forgive me," she said gently. "Might I know your name?"

Her simple question startled him for a moment, his heavy eyelids opening wide to look at her. There wasn't a hint of amusement or patronization in her features, just simple curiosity. He couldn't remember the last time someone had actually asked to know his name. Because of the scar he bore, everyone knew him as Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived before he had even had the chance to be introduced.

"Harry," he said finally, relaxing once more against the soft bed. "Harry Potter."

She smiled at him. "Well Mr. Potter-"

"Harry," he interrupted, his eyes drooping slowly as he fought to keep them open. "Just Harry...please." He had far to many unpleasant memories associated with being called 'Mr. Potter'.

She nodded, smiling once more. "Well then Harry, it's a pleasure to meet you," she told him. "My name is Selene."

* * *

Well, ladies and gentlemen, I do hope you can forgive my rudeness and tardiness but the wait is over. The revised second chapter of A Darker Dream is now finished. I do hope you enjoyed it, and please don't hesitate to get in touch with me should you have questions or comments. Reviews are a great way to do that too! I hope you enjoyed A Darker Dream Chapter Two: A Rescue. Please, leave a review.

**Wednesday, October 6, 2010**


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